Shoulder to Shoulder
by Strawberrywaltz
Summary: Together they survived the battle of New York - now they must survive life.


_I hit a huge roadblock of creativity. Like seriously, it's bad. So I took a break, read some prompts off of livejournal and found a few I'm very interested in. This doesn't mean I'm not going to write the third installment of my 'Your Lie' saga, it just means I need a break to make sure that it's flipping AWESOME. ^^_

_I hope you like my version of a break… ^^_

_This didn't really fit with Antics but there might be a new chapter coming to that very soon ^^ This is going to be another collection of one shots that are less light hearted and more…emotional. _

_Warnings: Depression and a brief mention of child abuse. _

* * *

**Side Effects**

In the beginning the Avengers were strangers. Everyone starts off as a stranger at some point – even Clint and Natasha had been strangers when he'd been sent to kill her and didn't. On the team they were the only two familiar with each other's quirks. In a way it kind of balanced things out since Clint hadn't technically been introduced to the other Avengers until the final fight – at least not officially.

They started to live together after the Battle of New York and worked together as a team when needed. Steve, Tony, Bruce and Natasha had already had time to bond before the battle and so they already started to understand a bit about how one another's different personalities worked – and sometimes conflicted.

Natasha was hostile when she was on mission or tense for whatever reason, but she also had a softness that slipped through her natural badassery. Her past was dark and filled with red blood but she constantly searched for a way to make up for her crimes. She cared about what was important – her partner. Nobody messed with Barton unless they wanted a fist in their face or a knee in their balls.

Drunk-Tony had many different ranges in reaction and interaction with people. Anywhere from a giggle mess to cruel empty words, Tony drank a lot – it was how he coped with shit. He didn't like to drink alone but there were certain people who disappeared when he picked up a bottle. Sometimes it was best to leave Tony alone, but Steve fell on the grenade and typically sat through it all – no matter how much Steve drank he never got drunk. This both annoyed and entertained Stark. Now he had two people to watch his back when he was sloshed – Pepper and Captain freaking America.

Bruce was jumpy. He didn't like loud sudden noises – it reminded him too much of artillery fire and the need to run. Most of the time he locked himself in the lab, but he didn't mind visitors if the door was open. In fact he enjoyed talking with people – he'd been alone long enough, but there were times he needed his space. Bruce was also slow to anger, even if he claimed to be angry all the time. If, and it was rare, Bruce was on the brink of getting mad he'd simply turn and walk away – they (Tony) learned quickly not to follow.

Steve hated the cold and typically kept his room temperature just below boiling. It took a bit of observation but Clint was the first to realize that Steve never went near the refrigerator in the kitchen – though he never called Steve on it. Instead he mentioned it to Bruce and the two made it their mission to help Steve get what he needed without making him feel embarrassed for his phobia. Tony even asked Jarvis to raise the temperature a few degrees in whatever room Steve was in just to make sure the Captain was comfortable – not that he would ever tell Steve, of course.

Thor hadn't returned to New York since the battle, but his quirks were mainly culture based. The Shakespearian way he talked being the most noticeable.

Clint was the odd ball out and not just because he'd been the Avengers' enemy up until the final battle – he was a little anti-social at times. The archer suffered from depression after Loki and SHIELD tried daily to shove pills down his throat. Unable to go on missions because of the Loki incident he sulked around the tower a lot. He talked, bantered and joked with the others – it actually took them a while to figure out he was depressed.

The problem was that SHIELD's medical personnel, psychologists and scientists had no idea what long lasting effects Loki's mind control might have on their asset – therefore Clint was taken off active duty.

It pissed the archer off and when his anger fell it left him in a deep pit of depression.

"You fixed me," Clint yelled at Natasha their first night in the tower. The rooms – thank God – were sound proof and Jarvis was disabled in their room per their request. They needed privacy – they were spies after all. "I have the bump to prove it. Can't they see that? I'm fine!"

"Your back needs time to heal." Natasha pointed out calmly, unaffected by his sharp glare. She was used to her partner's anger in all its shapes in forms. If he was venting loudly he was fine, it was when Clint got quiet that there was a problem.

"Wasn't the first time I crashed through a window – won't be my last." Clint rolled his eyes and sat heavily next to her on his too big bed. Compared to his room at SHIELD the room Stark gave Clint was a mansion – Natasha wondered if it made him as uncomfortable as it did her. In her experience rich things came with a large price.

Natasha smiled gently as she watched his shoulders slumped forward in exhausted defeat. "It doesn't matter, you still have to let those gashes heal Clint. Seventy stitches isn't something you can just laugh off."

They were both aware that wasn't the problem, Natasha wasn't sure she was ready to talk about the real problem – but Clint apparently was.

"I don't want to take the pills." He admitted in a broken whisper that nearly broke her heart. "I'm fine, Nat – I swear. I can handle it."

She sighed, unsure if she really believed him – well, that was a lie. She flat out didn't believe him. He didn't sleep or eat unless she forced him too and he seemed detached – more so than normal.

"These are different than what they had you on before." This wasn't exactly the first time SHIELD thought Clint was depressed. Natasha took the little orange bottle in her hand and turned it over. Fury had told them both about the pills, but it seemed Clint needed to be reminded. "There shouldn't be any negative side effects – at least not any that will effect your vision. It won't make you foggy – is that what your worried about?"

"No." Clint sighed a shaky sigh. "I don't want to need them."

Her heart shattered for him, but she couldn't let him win even if she secretly wanted to let him – this was for the best. Natasha had seen him fall before and Coulson wasn't there anymore to rescue him – she was his guardian now and that terrified her. "Just try it for a little while, okay? You won't need them for very long. Besides if you do what the doctor's want you'll be able to return to work."

Clint took the pill.

Although the anti depressants didn't have as strong of side effects as others Clint had been on he still needed to sleep for hours after he'd taken one.

The others took notice, but it was Tony who dared to joke – unaware that it wasn't normal for Clint to behave that way.

"That guy can sleep anywhere." Tony announced as he waltzed into Bruce's lab one afternoon.

"Who?" Bruce questioned only to make a guess before Tony could respond. "Oh, Clint?"

"Who else?" Tony laughed and sipped at whatever was in his mug, Bruce silently hoped it was just coffee. Banner always found some reason to leave when Tony started binge drinking – ironically the subject of their current discussion always seemed to leave as well. Bruce wondered if Clint had a drunk in his family too.

"Where is he now?" Bruce asked as he adjusted his glasses and wrote something down on the paper next to him.

"You know there are computers for that, right?" Tony narrowed his eyes momentarily before he returned to their main topic of conversation. "He fell asleep sitting at the kitchen table. Didn't even move as I walked around rather loudly – some assassin." Tony huffed and showed Bruce the picture he'd taken with his phone.

An image of Clint appeared on the screen. The archer sat slumped over the table with his arms loosely crossed together under his head to serve as a pillow. The assassin's face was aimed towards the camera at an awkward tilt and his soft expression revealed how oblivious the man was to his surroundings. It was doubtful that Clint would have allowed the picture to be taken if he had been aware.

The position looked uncomfortable to Bruce, but Clint appeared to be completely relaxed – the lack of tension made the man look much younger than he actually was. He must have been exhausted to fall asleep and stay asleep in such an active area of the tower.

Bruce frowned – Tony had made a solid point. As an assassin Bruce expected Clint to be more like Natasha. She was always alert around them and even if she did nap in the common area she never seemed to lose track of who was around her.

"Maybe that's his way of showing that he's comfortable around us?" Bruce tried to explain it away.

That explanation was fine until a few days later when Bruce stumbled across Clint standing in the hallway. The man didn't react to Bruce's sudden presence and even though Clint's face was turned away Banner thought it was odd enough to keep his distance.

"Agent Barton?" Bruce called from where he stood, not wanting to startle an assassin – since that didn't seem like a healthy choice for either of them.

Clint turned to look at him slowly – Bruce was shocked to see the confusion written in the younger man's eyes. "Dr. Banner?" Barton mumbled and glanced around – he looked completely lost. Bruce had never seen Clint look disoriented before, so he resisted the urge to move closer until given permission.

"Are you alright?" Bruce asked after a stretch of silence. He was pretty sure he knew the answer even if Clint didn't answer truthfully.

"I – " Clint cut himself off and looked back at the doctor as he deflated with appeared to be defeat. "I forgot what I was doing." Barton admitted in a sad tone before turning and walking back in the direction of his room.

Bruce watched the man go with concern – Clint Barton didn't appear to be the type of person to forget what he was doing.

After the hallway incident Bruce started to pick up on other oddities that worried him. Clint's sleeping pattern, how little he ate when Natasha wasn't there and the man's wondering mind. Sometimes he'd simply stop talking mid sentence and ask what they'd been talking about – which was disconcerting to say the least.

It worried Bruce enough that he thought he should mention it to someone else – he chose to talk to Steve, him being the team leader and all. Steve was also the most logical choice because Tony would more than likely blow off the concern and Natasha was sensitive when it came to Barton.

"Maybe that's just how he is?" Steve offered after Bruce voiced his observations. It was clear the Captain didn't really believe his own brush off – but they weren't _that _kind of team. They were only just getting to know one another and if they brought it up with Natasha or Clint they risked breaking their fragile bonds of friendship.

"I don't believe so," Bruce sighed, but he understood Steve's worry – he just wasn't sure he agreed. "Just watch him."

Steve agreed – he didn't like what he saw.

Shortly after Bruce approached him Steve decided to get to know their resident sniper a bit better.

"Agent Barton," Steve greeted kindly as he 'stumbled' across Clint stretching before a run. Steve may or may not have asked Jarvis to inform him if Clint appeared to be going for a run so he could conveniently accompany him.

Clint looked up with curious eyes before he responded. "Captain."

Steve shifted under the assassin's gaze, swallowed and decided to break the silence. "Great minds must think alike."

Barton snorted and nodded quietly as he stood. "If you wanted to spend some quality time with me, you could have asked." Clint told Steve who blushed in response.

"Am I that obvious?" Steve managed – the tips of his ears were still bright red as they entered the elevator.

"I read people for a living." Clint shrugged with a lopsided smile. "You've also been watching me recently – so has Bruce. Care to share?"

Steve cleared his throat with silent wonder at how his plan had backfired so quickly. He was supposed to be the one figuring out Barton – not the other way around. "Well, Bruce was worried, which made me worry."

"Worried?" Clint's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "If you're concerned about my loyalties – "

"No!" Steve sharply interrupted, appalled that Clint would even suggest that they might doubt him. "No, that's not it at all. We trust you Clint – but we've noticed some odd, uh, behavior?"

Clint's eyes narrowed, but not in a tense way – Steve was pretty sure he was confused.

"Behavior?"

Steve cleared his throat. "Uh, well, Bruce said you've been forgetting things and you fall asleep – oddly."

Visibly Clint deflated and gave Steve a nod as he leaned back against the elevator wall. "Yeah, I've been off recently." He seemed to hesitate before he admitted, "SHIELD has me on these meds, but I'll be off them soon."

"So, everything is fine?" Steve asked lightly, his worry lifted ever so slightly.

"Yeah," Clint nodded with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Everything's going to be alright."

Later Steve would regret not asking what the medication was for.

Clint stopped taking his pills that day.

It helped that Natasha was off on a mission – it also made things unbearable. Clint's anxiety skyrocketed in the days that followed. He was fine as long as he was around people, but once he was alone his life was a living nightmare.

He actively tried not to sleep. On the drugs sleeping had been painfully easy – too easy. The best and worst part of the drugs was that they knocked him out so deeply that he never remembered his dreams – now he was remembering everything.

The nightmares weren't just about Loki – nothing that haunted him was off limits. His father's nightly beatings when he was a child, his brother trying to kill him when he was a teenager, all his demons were returning to him stealing away his chance at rest.

It was hell.

The nausea wasn't easily explained, but it plagued him nonetheless. Clint thought he'd hid it well enough from the others – no one commented anyway.

Things weren't getting easier and Clint was constantly walking the line of a panic attack. His chest was tight and his breathing was controlled only because he counted in his head.

Breathe in – one, two, three.

Hold – one.

Exhale out – one, two, three.

Every once in a while he'd be distracted just enough to lose count and everything crumbled. He refused to call them blackouts, but Clint would find himself backed into the nearest corner and not remember how exactly he had gotten there or how long he'd been there. Slowly he'd start to count again and refuse to consider this was his life now.

He'd get better, though – there was no other alternative.

Thankfully no one had the pleasure of witnessing one of his anxiety episodes – at least not until now.

It had to be Tony – Clint cursed his luck as he tried frantically to remember what number he was on.

A few minutes before the attack hit Tony and Clint had been discussing what they should have for dinner that night on their way to the gym. Clint wanted to make pasta and Tony was feeling like going out for Mexican.

Everything was fine – until it wasn't.

"Something's been bothering me," Tony started. In retrospect Clint probably should have walked away then, but he hadn't. "If you're the 'greatest marksman in the world' then why didn't you kill Hill? You fired a whole clip – Clint?"

They'd stopped walking. Well, Clint had stopped. He'd stopped breathing too, and that brought them both to the present – Clint was shoved up against the wall, hands gripping both his chest and his head as he fought to control his panicked breathing. Or breathe in general.

"Clint!" Tony was frantic, Clint zeroed in on a word here or there. Mostly Tony wasn't helping anything.

"Shut – up." Clint growled after he managed to take in a lungful of air.

Tony did, Clint actually heard the sharp 'click' of Stark's jaw shutting over the high pitched ringing in his ears.

Breathe in – one, two, three.

Hold – one.

Exhale out – one, two, three.

Slower. Repeat.

When Clint was fairly sure he had his counting under control he glanced up at Tony with a careful sigh. The man was visibly shaken, pale and panicked.

"I'm fine." Clint tried to calm the situation and unintentionally flipped a switch in Tony's head.

"The hell you are!" Tony shouted back in the archer's face – Clint hadn't realized how close Tony was to him until he started to scream. "You fucking gave me a heart attack!" He held his glowing chest to dramatize his point, flopping back against the wall across from Clint. "What the hell?"

Clint dropped his eyes in shame before he took in a shaky breath and carefully counted before exhaling. "I – just," Clint sighed deeply. Silently and controlled Clint stood with his eyes fixed on the ground. "I've got to go." He mumbled before retreating down the hallway in the opposite direction they had been heading.

"What the hell?" Tony shouted after him – Clint didn't listen. "Seriously? What the hell?"

Natasha found Clint somewhere around an hour later. She had just returned from her mission and had been dead set on a shower only for Tony to spoil her plans. Natasha was terrified when Tony approached her about her partner, even if she didn't show it. Clint didn't have panic attacks – at least not in front of people he barely knew.

"Clint? What are you doing?" She asked gently as she closed the door behind her. He didn't turn to look at her as he packed his back. Her partner didn't own much. Clint had explained to her once that he wasn't allowed to keep things when he was a kid.

Apparently when his parents died the state took everything in the house. His experience in foster care had left something to be desired and he was constantly shifted from home to home. Not to mention when Clint and his brother had joined the circus they were always traveling. Things got lost or ruined – Clint had learned young never to become attached to anything.

"Can't stay." Clint told her in defeat. She was starting to hate the way his shoulders would slump forward like that. Like he couldn't handle the weight he bared on his shoulders anymore. More than anything she wished she could take the weight from him.

"Why?" Natasha asked with an edge to her voice. "Because Tony's an idiot and can't keep his mouth shut?"

If anything Clint's shoulders slumped further.

"I can't do this anymore, Nat." Clint whispered, unable or unwilling to look at her. Natasha wasn't sure where his head was and it scared her.

"Clint," She started to reach out to him, but hesitated before her fingers could brush the back of his shoulder. "I'm right here." She promised as she took his hand in hers and guided him to sit with her on the bed.

He hunched over in order to curl in on himself protectively. "I'm not." He told her brokenly.

Natasha couldn't respond at first, not until the lump in her throat was gone. "Where are you?" She asked as she laid her head on his shoulder.

"Gone." He whispered back. "I screwed up, Nat."

She didn't risk pulling away, too afraid that he'd disappear as soon as she let him go. Instead she leaned in closer so they melded together and tried to comfort him with their physical connection.

"How so?" Natasha asked lightly, making sure he knew she'd help him.

"I stopped taking them." Clint admitted with closed eyes.

Silently she mirrored his expression – he was talking about his medication, Natasha had worried this would happen when she'd left for her mission.

Instead of interrupting Natasha waited for him to continue. "Bruce and Cap noticed the side effects, I got scared. I didn't want to be kicked off the team for being a junkie – but I can't do this."

Carefully, slowly Natasha looked up at Clint – he wouldn't meet her eyes. "Clint." She coaxed, he hesitated but finally looked back at her. "First of all you are not a junkie – get that through your thick skull right now. Secondly you don't have to do this alone. They won't kick you off the team for this – they'll understand. Everything is fixable."

"I don't feel fixable." He looked away again stubbornly, Natasha thought he might be fighting off tears but didn't call him on it.

"Maybe if we tell the doctor's about the symptoms they can work out a way to fix them?" Natasha offered kindly, unsure if it was possible, but willing to give it a try.

"I can't do this." Clint whispered and attempted to disentangle his hand from hers – Natasha refused to let him go. "I can't do this anymore, Natasha, I can't."

"Clint." She spoke sharply, forcing his eyes back up to meet hers. "You can do anything." Natasha searched his eyes for any spark of her old partner. "Will you let me help you?"

It didn't look like Clint was going to accept her help for a terrifying moment, but in the end Clint nodded slowly.

"Okay." He whispered back and leaned his forehead against hers gently. "Okay."

* * *

_For now this is a one shot. I'm going on vacation tomorrow! Yay! AND I got a job! Sort of, I might not get paid, but it'll be really good for job experience... _

_Reviews and Reviewers are loved! _


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